


The Pull

by GeeBrittany



Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: FUCK, I'm obsessed with this damn show, Multi, My brain wouldn't fucking stop until I wrote this, Time Travel, Timey-Wimey, who knows how long I'll stick with this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-10-21
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27134689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GeeBrittany/pseuds/GeeBrittany
Summary: Set in season 2.A woman in her twenty-somethings leaves 2018, and enters 1959. What even is a timeline?Just feel free to read.A non-number Eight original character.
Relationships: Klaus Hargreeves/Original Character(s), Klaus Hargreeves/Original Female Character(s)
Kudos: 6





	1. What The Fuck

Wow, where to begin?

Should I start at my birth, is that too cliché? Well, too bad, I’m doing it anyway.

I was born in New York, on the crisp morning of the warmest day of April, 1994. Smack bang on my due date. My mother, evidently, entered the hospital doors at the exact moment that her water broke, and the whole ordeal was finished within the hour.  
The doctors and nurses said that it was like nothing they’d seen before – the cleanest birth they’d witnessed.  
They’d explained it as almost as if our bodies worked in tandem to be sure the event was as smooth as a birth could possibly be, and they would be right.

You see, throughout our entire lives, both my mom and I have had the same uncanny ability to be at exactly the right place at exactly the right time. Sounds stupid – trust me, I know – but in a world where there’s a family of superhero kids running around fighting crime, you don’t really question it too much – just accept it and move on with your life. After all, no one in our tiny family was born in 1989, so obviously we weren’t a part of that ragtag group – thankfully.

Unfortunately for us though, this ‘power’ didn’t extend to my father, who passed away just after my eleventh birthday. His death sent my mom spiralling into a severe state of depression, where she struggled to leave her room for the most part of six months; until one day, she got out of bed, made herself presentable, and stepped out the front door – only to immediately run into an old friend from college. Long story short, that run in with an old college friend, who turned out to have _a lot_ of connections in high places, ended up with mom getting her dream job as a photographer for National Geographic – taking us away from our depressed, grieving lives in New York, and sending us to fantastic places all around the world.  
  
We travelled the globe for thirteen years, always sticking close together. Drinking in different cultures, and growing into happier and healthier versions of ourselves; until inevitably the pull in our chests stopped taking us towards exciting new countries, and instead took us back home to New York, where we were apparently meant to be.  
That damn Pull is almost impossible to ignore.  
  


Less than a week after arriving home is when it happened. The day had been uneventful. Monotonous hours of moving items into the new apartment had ticked by, taking my happy mood with them. Mom had noticed this, and quickly ducked out of the room, only to dance back in a few minutes later carrying her signature margaritas. She handed me one with a giggle, and tore from me a smile that was always reserved just for her.  
We’d danced around the room to cheesy eighties music as the sun retreated below the horizon, and the moon arose to begin her watch.  
The shift in the atmosphere was sudden, but we’d both felt it. Mom, who had frozen mid twirl, had quickly turned to me, just as the glass had slipped from my fingers and smashed against the tiled floor. The Pull was back, but this time was different – like nothing I’d felt before. It seemed to be pulling me into myself, making my stomach feel although it was flipping over and over again.  
I watched her wide eyes trace my hand as it rose to sit against my abdomen, and then they rose met mine, and I could see the fear that was surely mirrored in my matching blue eyes.

It all happened in a matter of seconds. A confused question of ‘mom?’ tumbled past my lips, and she moved toward me with outstretched arms, before a swarm of electric blue light stole my vision, and her scream of my name quickly disappeared into nothing.

______________________________________________________________ 

And that’s how I ended up here: puking my guts up on the wall of a back alley, and nursing an already-swelling arm – courtesy of whatever the fuck just threw my ass onto the filthy concrete of this dank passageway.  
As my head stopped spinning, and my stomach calmed, I was able to open my eyes and observe my surroundings. For one, I was definitely no longer in my apartment – that much was obvious – but it was also no longer night. The sun beating overhead was harsh, and I had to shield my eyes as I peered around at my unfamiliar surroundings.  
I slowly pulled myself to my feet, trembling slightly with the effort exuded by my jelly-like legs, when something caught my eye. A large commercial bin sat flush against the brick wall of the alley, pack to the top with garbage. There, on the top, sat a slightly crumpled page of a newspaper.  
As quickly as I could manage, I moved to the bin and snatched the page up, ignoring the medley of pungent odours wafting from it. My eyes scanned the paper with fervour until they landed on the upper right corner of the page and my heart froze. ‘ **OCT 12 TH, 1959**’ sat proudly in bold, black ink, against the smelly, but otherwise seemingly relatively new parchment. That can’t be right, I tried to rationalise, but my heart began to race, and my breaths became shallow.  
Quickly, in almost a frenzied state, I threw the paper back into the bin and stumbled to the end of the alley, only to let out a sob at the sight that greeted me.  
The cars, the fashion, the people, the storefronts – all of it, looked although it had been plucked directly from an Audrey Heburn movie and smashed directly into my unwilling eyeballs.  
  
“What the fuck?”


	2. Dude, 1959 Sucks

The breath coming through my lungs seemed to become shorter and shorter as I roamed the streets aimlessly. The strange looks from the people from a time period that I had thought to be worlds away from started to become too much to handle; as a group of men in pin-striped suits eyed my bare legs up and down and began to wolf-whistle, while the ladies clutching the men’s arms closely shot dirty looks towards me. Quickly, as to avoid the group that were quickly approaching, I ducked into the door of the café immediately to my right – trying to ignore the sick feeling that arose to my stomach at seeing the disgusting ‘WHITES ONLY’ sign in the window.  
I let out a long breath that I hadn’t realized I’d began to hold, and swiftly moved to one of the many stools lining the main counter.   
“What can I get you?” An older lady with an unkind face and a too-tight hair bun asked in a bored tone, only looking at me once to give a criticizing expression at my attire – to which I pulled my daggy cardigan closer, attempting to cover myself.  
“Uh, I’ll just have a water. I’m a little low on cash today.” I said with a smile that more closely resembled a grimace.   
Her reply was an eye roll and a scoff so loud that I was immediately self-conscious. “Coming right up.” She drawled sarcastically before quickly slamming a glass of lukewarm water on the table before me. I mumbled a quick ‘thanks’ and ran a shaky hand through my hair as I took a sip of the water with yet another grimace.  
I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to feel where the magnetic pull in my chest determined that I should be, as my brain certainly had no idea; however, much to my misery, the pull was nowhere to be felt.  
“Come on.” I whisper to myself, massaging my temples, my eyes remaining closed but with more strain now. “You dropped me in this shit hole, and you’ve gotta get me the hell out.” Still nothing. “Where the fuck are you when I need you? Why am I here?” I jumped as the glass was slid away from me on the table. I looked up, startled, to see the unpleasant waitress with a sneer on her thin, borderline-skeletal face.  
“You need to leave.” She said, with the gravelly voice of a pack-a-day smoker; which, by the look of the yellow stains on her fingertips, was more than likely the case.  
“Happily.” I spat back. I peered around at the patrons, who looked on with either judging or worried expressions. “I’d rather not be seated in a place who won’t serve people who have more melanin in their skin than the average Caspar the Friendly Fucking Ghost.”   
She sneered loudly again to get out, which I obliged, throwing up the middle finger as I passed the door into the heat outside.

Dallas. That’s where I had come to realize that I was currently located. The information had been so kindly supplied to me by the shopfronts I’d passed on my trail. The heat was intense, nothing like the New York weather that I had come from just hours before, and my body was struggling to cope with the sudden change, perspiring at an almost alarming amount.  
My hand rose once again to shield my eyes against the glaring sunlight. I had no idea what to do, or where to go, and I could once again feel tears beginning to sting my eyes.   
Suddenly, without warning, I was jerked forward by an invisible force. “Oh good, you’re back.” I muttered darkly, scrubbing my eyes. My hopes were sightly lifted as I knew that I couldn’t be possibly being led anywhere dangerous.  
I was directed along for maybe twenty minutes, turning down various streets and lanes until suddenly I came to a stop. I looked around, a little confused, but my silent question was answered as one of my hands was pulled up just in time to catch a half-full can of paint before it fell to the pavement. I heard a loud intake of air, and a yelp, and quickly looked up to see that the ladder perched next to me was beginning to tip. Without a second thought I quickly moved to steady the ladder before it could fall.  
“Are you okay” I called to the man at the top, watching him as he regained his balance, and brought a hand to his heart as if stopping it from jumping out of his chest.  
“Y-yeah.” He called back, as he slowly descended to the ground.  
“I’m guessing this is yours?” I asked, holding out the can to the young man. He smiled widely, nodding and taking the tin.   
He was quite handsome really. Young and tall, slight dimples gracing his cheeks as he smiled at me, his slightly crooked teeth only adding to his charm. At a glance, I guessed him to be either Japanese or Korean, but I couldn’t be too sure.  
“Yes. Thank you.” His voice had an accent, but was definitely diluted with a Texan tongue. “Good reflexes.” He commented with a laugh. I laughed back, and for the first time since I’d been dropped here, I felt safe in the company of someone.  
“Thanks. I’ve been training.” I joked. “You know, if you can dodge a wrench, you can dodge a ball and all that jazz?” Ugh, stupid. He tilted his head slightly with confusion.   
Quickly changing that subject, I peered up to the top of the ladder, and saw that the man had been painting a sign on the front of the building. “Academy of Martial Arts, hey?” I admired. The man looked at the sign, and back to me before his smile returned.  
“Oh, yeah. This is my place. I mostly teach kids at the moment, but-” He trailed off, seemingly embarrassed at his digression. “I’m Tsutomu.” He smiled, extending his hand.  
“Max.” I replied, matching his grin and I took his hand and gave a firm shake, and his grin grew.  
“I’ve never met a lady named Max.” He said with a smile.  
“I’ve never met a man named Tsutomu.” I quipped back, earning a laugh.  
“Touché.” He grinned as he dropped my hand. “Would you like to come in for a drink?” He asked with a grin; and for the first time since I’d landed in 1959, I trusted that I was on the right path again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, Tsutomu is very loosely based on a real Karate Master from the era, but mostly because I was looking for inspiration for characters, please don't take him as the exact same person. <3  
> Hope you're all well.

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all. Thanks for checking this out. Hope you enjoyed, and I'm going to try to stick to this, because this stupid time-travel plot has decided to map itself out in my head, and it won't let me sleep until I write it down. That being said, please feel free to leave some love - or don't - I'm not telling you how to live your life. <3
> 
> Also, feel free to imagine yourself at the OC or whoever you want, but in my head when I'm writing her, she looks like Samara Weaving. Sorry, that stunning bitch is always on my mind.
> 
> xx


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